


but you're here now

by adeleblaircassiedanser



Series: a slow disaster [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - 50 Shades of Grey Fusion, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Lack of Communication, M/M, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 07:10:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13208607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adeleblaircassiedanser/pseuds/adeleblaircassiedanser
Summary: “Thanks,” he says quietly. “Seriously, thanks. You don’t have to stay, I’m just going to get you sick.”“Don’t,” Leon says simply, and strips out of his shirt and pants and climbs into bed in just his boxers. Somehow the warmth his body generates penetrates the chill on Connor's skin in a way three layers of blankets haven’t.





	but you're here now

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, greetings, fair readers. This is a continuation of my silly little "mcbaby as weirdass christian grey" universe, so if you're unfamiliar you might want to read the first story. the gist is that connor is still the Next Next One, Leon is a normal, and they're doing all kinds of lying and misdirecting about their feelings. This story takes place in a canon-divergent mid-November 2017, where Connor is still sick with- and this is just what's been admitted to by Big NHL (i think he must have had mono in addition): strep throat, tonsil infection, fever, sore throat, headache, nausea, and vomiting. Of course being the ridiculous sport that this is he played every single game during the month or however long he was sick.  
> Slight warning for reference to his real life accidental weight loss of 7-10 pounds during this time, because nobody apparently cares for his well-being.  
> Shouts to @fearblank for requesting more in this universe this morning, and thus reminding me it existed; to @viennajones for mcbaby schedule detail help, and an especially big thanks to @frecklebomb for a very quick, lovely, and thorough beta on no notice at all. I love this fandom.   
> Title from "Four Walls" by Broods: "And I'm trying hard to make you want me/ but I don't wanna try too hard/And I was thinking you got what you came for, but you're here now."

Technically and objectively speaking, it’s a really good game. With the way this season started, the mere fact of a win at home can’t be taken for granted. Beating Vegas puts them at .500 for the month so far, which is good, or good enough for now. For fuck’s sake, they won 8-2. Connor got three points. It was a good night. 

Connor gets showered and changed and tries to smile while he says all this to the press. Right as the game ended, he had felt a little jolt of something, adrenaline or victory, but it’d faded quickly and by the time he gets out of the view of the cameras he feels a little like he might fall over. Everything hurts, and not just in the way it always does after a game. It seems like every tired muscle is complaining twice as loudly as usual, and besides that he’s thirsty, so he has to keep gulping water, but he hasn’t been able to swallow properly in at least two days, so that hurts too. He feels a bit foggy but he gets the general facial expression and directions of coaching staff and teammates alike- takes the hint- _go the fuck home, you look horrible_. He drives himself home. It occurs to him some moments after pulling out onto the road that he may not actually be up to driving, but luckily it’s at least a clear night and he makes it home all right. 

He’s resting against the inside of his front door, waiting to warm up a little and get together some energy to make it into bed, when he hears someone clear their throat. 

“Hi,” Leon says. _Fuck._

“Hi,” Connor tries to say, but it comes out as a strangled sort of coughing sound. _Fuck_. Fuck. His instinct is to sink to the floor- everything is so fucking unfair- but instead he breathes in and sits in a chair, like an adult. “How are you,” he manages. 

“I’m good,” Leon says, and he’s smiling. “You were fucking awesome tonight.” Connor blinks for a second, realizes he’s talking about the hockey, and nods. 

“Thanks,” he says. “Um, hi. I forgot you were coming today. Sorry.” 

“Yeah, I can tell,” Leon says, but he doesn’t sound annoyed or anything. “I just thought, you were on the road for a while. And then the game was so good I thought you might feel like celebrating. You don’t look like you want to celebrate, though. You look like somebody died. Or like you died.”

“Sorry,” Connor says again. 

“No, no- are you okay, though? Do you need anything?” Connor tries to think about what he might need, but mostly he’s too tired to think and his face and head hurt and he’s concerned he may actually start to cry. 

When he doesn’t say anything Leon nods and says, “Okay, so let’s go to bed.”

Somewhere in the back of Connor’s mind he’s concerned about the fact that he will under no circumstances be able to fulfill any of the expectations entailed by that sentence- if he manages not to sneeze on Leon’s face, that will be a miracle- but when he’s this sick he’s used to his mom or his billet mom taking over, and it feels natural to just take orders. Actually, he’s not sure he remembers ever being this sick, but the point stands. 

Leon helps him undress and puts him under the covers, turns the lights down low, and collects things that must have come out of Connor’s various cabinets and places them on the nightstand. Tissues, a glass of water, some cough drops, a thermometer. He holds out a measuring cup’s worth of syrup- by the color, it’s the kind that puts you to sleep. Connor gulps it gratefully, his sense of taste so eroded that it goes down easily. 

“Thanks,” he says quietly. “Seriously, thanks. You don’t have to stay, I’m just going to get you sick.” 

“Don’t,” Leon says simply, and strips out of his shirt and pants and climbs into bed in just his boxers. Somehow the warmth his body generates penetrates the chill on Connor's skin in a way three layers of blankets haven’t. He scoots up close, so they’re almost touching, and places one hand out on Connor’s chest. “You look too skinny,” he says. “Tomorrow you have to eat.” 

“Okay,” Connor says dubiously, and then has a terrible realization. “I’m going to throw up.”

“No, we’ll start slow,” Leon says. “Just crackers or something.” 

“No, right now,” Connor says, and covers his mouth. 

“Oh, shit, from the medicine?” Leon jumps up quickly and brings a wastebasket over to the side of the bed. He pats Connor on the back while he retches. After a minute, though, nothing comes up, and the urge dies down. Connor feels sure there was something else he wanted to say, but abruptly he can’t keep his eyes open for another second. 

\---

When Connor wakes up, he can’t tell what time it is; his phone didn’t go off and is in fact nowhere within reach, and the curtains on the windows are all closed. He has a moment of panic, thinking he’s late for skate, before remembering that it’s an off day before the St. Louis game tomorrow and also if he showed up sick like this for optional skate he would be unable to play in the game because his own coach would have murdered him in cold blood. 

After a moment he registers that he’s alone in bed, which makes sense. Memories from last night start to trickle in and Connor feels his face heat. It was impossible already to imagine that Leon had a very high opinion of him, but yesterday had been a new low. He’d barely been able to hold a conversation. He’d forced Leon to act like a home health aide, which is an even more awkward dynamic than their usual; _fuck_ , Leon had watched him trying to puke up Nyquil over the side of his bed. No wonder he’d left. Jesus. 

While Connor is trying to consider what sort of gift would be sufficient to repay Leon’s incredible patience, how indulgently kind he’d been- he knows Leon has a PS4 at home, but maybe there are a few dozen games in print that he hasn’t played yet- the door cracks. 

“Oh, hey,” Leon says. “You’re awake. How do you feel?” 

“Uh,” Connor says, stunned. Leon’s still here. He’s still not wearing a shirt, but he’s pulled on a pair of Connor’s sweatpants, so they’re a little too tight around the hips, and for some reason even though they’re inside he’s also pulled on one of those backwards baseball caps he’s always wearing. The fact that Connor notices all this, even if his reaction is muted, is a sign that he’s feeling somewhat better, so he says as much. 

“Good,” Leon says. “I know you don’t want to eat, but I thought you could have just a Gatorade and a little toast? I brought one without butter to start and then one with butter as a treat, if you can handle it.” 

He’s smiling a little, sweet and solicitous as if Connor were a child or a real, dying patient or anything else besides a spoiled twenty-year-old with a head cold. Connor’s stomach goes warm and fluttery, and for the first time in a couple days it’s a pleasant sort of feeling. 

“You can go,” Connor croaks out. 

“What?” 

“Thank you,” Connor clarifies. “I mean, I appreciate it. Sorry for being such a mess. But you don’t have to like, stay and watch me. I’m really sorry.” 

Leon’s making a strange face now. “You’re off today, though.” 

“Yeah, the game is Thursday, so.” Connor doesn’t quite understand what Leon’s getting at. 

“You’re going to play _tomorrow?_ That’s fucking crazy. You look like a dead man walking.”

“Thanks,” Connor says primly, scratching under his chin. He probably needs to shave, if he can stand up long enough and manage not to slice himself or anything. “Thanks for everything. I’ll try to eat the toast.”

Leon looks him in the eye. “Are you saying you don’t want me here? Am I annoying you? I can let you sleep, I just thought- you’re losing weight, you have to eat- if you’re gonna play fucking hockey like this- but I can-”

“No, oh my god,” Connor says quickly, turning bright red. “Oh my god, no, you’re not annoying me. I’m being so fucking annoying, are you kidding? Why would you want to hang out here and babysit a disgusting zombie?”

Leon laughs a little. “Shut up.”

“No, I’m serious. I would offer to help you out, at least, I know last night was a big disappointment, but you’d have to close your eyes and pretend it was- I dunno, someone hot- and it might be creepy, knowing it was actually me, dying and getting my death germs all over your dick, probably.”

“See, you’re always saying you don’t know how to talk dirty,” Leon says, and his voice is so warm and sexy, somehow, even now. Connor giggles despite himself. “I don’t want your death germs on my dick, thank you for the kind offer.”

It’s stupid, because Connor obviously already knew that, and said it himself, but it still feels shitty being rejected- it’s been over a week since they saw each other, and it’s been a long, shitty week, and usually this is what he looks forward to, but somehow he’s managed to fuck this up too. He’s been sick for what feels like forever, and it’ll probably never end, and the Leon thing was nice while it lasted but honestly given what Connor looks like at his best, given his winning personality on a good day- it was never going to be permanent. 

“Yeah, I figured,” he says quietly. “Anyway, you have my number if you need anything. Thanks again.”

Leon pauses for a second. “After Thursday,” he says. “You’re on the road again. For another week or something.”

“More like ten days,” Connor confirms. 

Leon’s looking at his own hands, weirdly, sort of squeezing them into fists and then releasing, then cracking his knuckles. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “Can I not just hang out? I’ll be quiet. It just sucks- It’ll be like a whole month, basically. Sorry if I’m being weird, just. We’re friends, at least, right?”

“Sure,” Connor says, surprised. “We’re friends.”

“So. We’re friends, and it sucks when you’re gone, I miss you, and it sucks that you’re trying to kick me out if there’s not a good reason for it. Do you really not want me here?” 

Connor almost laughs at the stupidity of the question. “Stay,” he says. “If you like being bored and catching diseases, mi casa is your casa, I guess.”

“If I’m going to catch whatever it is,” Leon says. “I probably already have it, right?” 

“Maybe?” Connor says. “I’m not a scientist. You’re the student.”

“Okay,” Leon says, and then he’s walking over and kissing Connor on the mouth. “Oh, ew,” he says. “Go brush your teeth. Can you stand up?” 

“For sure,” Connor says, but what he’s thinking is, he could probably do anything right now. Play a full twenty minutes of ice time. _This_ is what a win is supposed to feel like. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! If you want to talk about mcbaby, any of the various mcpairings, hockey, or any other nonsense, i'm adeleblaircassiedanser on tumblr. if you message me there i'll tell you how to get me on twitter and the discord too lol. happy new year y'all! <3


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